Fine Flu Journal Fine Flu Journal- june 2014 | Page 25

In Dreams

When the great Roy Orbison sings “In Dreams,”
he redeems the broken things in dreams.
The lonely bush, the golden jackass,
topiary fit for a king in dreams.
Used bandages like two Japanese flags,
the redwing blackbird spreads its wings in dreams.
I kiss each naked finger goodbye
every time the telephone rings in dreams.
Subconscious swings through jungle trees,
hit by shit chimpanzees fling in dreams.
The twentieth century’s empty room.
Yellow lights flashing under blankets in dreams.
I’m tempted to let this world unravel,
to detune all the brass and strings in dreams.
Beware, Glen, equally the sweet talk
of honeybees, the hornet’s sting in dreams.

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